


That's What We Are

by oversizedcassette



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: And he saw the future, Arguing Parents, Because Prowl was not happy but didn't say it, Dubious Consent, I'm Bad At Tagging, Imprisonment, It's hard to get rid of spiders, M/M, Not to mention a giant one, Ostaros was confused, improper use of cobweb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22559758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oversizedcassette/pseuds/oversizedcassette
Summary: Mesothulas saw the future, seven times.
Relationships: Prowl/Tarantulas
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	1. A Perfect Match

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [That's What We Are](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25465546) by [oversizedcassette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oversizedcassette/pseuds/oversizedcassette). 



> *As you can see, this work is translated from my eponymous work in Chinese, you can see it if you like.  
> Not a native English speaker, could be gramma errors here and there.  
> Hope you enjoy.  
> 

A datapad, with light blue screen laced by orange biolights from the nearby black and white frame, was held in steady fingers. Tap tap tap, one finger absentmindedly drummed a rhythm on its back.

To the beats, a dark, soft wheel dangled in the air. Not very long ago, it was lifted up, crossed a deep purple thigh, indeliberately printed tread patterns on the scratched metal plate, accompanied by existing notchs and etch marks. 

A pair of scientist's servos were busy working beside crimson patellar panel, graceful, precise, skillful.

And bold.

Prowl suddenly coughed, might choke on energon, though the last time he was refueling was more than a 7 groons ago and nothing happened at that time.

Mesothulas unwillingly withdrew his servo from an inappropriate spot, continued massaging and oiling Prowl's joints on his lap. "Have you received my laboratorial requirements list?" 

"I'll read it on my drive back the next orn. So, you do all of these to bribe me?"

"Need I?"

Prowl just hummed, not even bothered to tear his optics from the report on his servos, a faint smile appeared at the corner of his lips.

His reading posture stiffened him. Mesothulas watched for a while, reached for Prowl's valuable datapad. Prowl startled and leaned back into his chair, "What?"

Mesothulas shrugged, servo back on the former police officer's leg. "If you insist on holding it yourself, I can intall you a datapad holder."

Door-wings slightly lowered and flapped at chair back, due to owner's regained relaxation. "A what?"

"A mod used to sustain light load, with profound adjustability and stability, attached to your armor, has no side effect. Is it clear?" Mesothulas managed to sound annoyed in vain. He succeeded or not, Prowl was apparently not listening at all, again.

"Hmm, hope every mech writes reports as him."

"Who?"

"Some mech you don't and won't know." Fully concentrated on reports, Prowl answered bluntly but spill nothing. Not that Mesothulas hold any interest on the identity of a mech talented in reports writing, he just tried to keep the conversation going. Ah, and some of his former colleagues said he had no social skill.

"So, what do you think?"

"Of what?"

"A simple but effective datapad holder, retractable and rotatable, on your arm or shoulder, will perfectly release the stress on your wrists, and don't you dare make me repeat a third time." 

Now, Prowl was really focused, "You're not joking."

"Of course I'm not, and I've never made one."

Prowl just glared, seemed had a very different opinion. 

"Okay, sometimes, not this time though. Do you ever realize how long and often you read datapads per orn? Especially you always tend to hold them in one servo. You definitely symbiose with datapads. Keeping this posture, " Mesothulas stopped taping at Prowl's tire to point a finger at him, "does nothing good to your wrists and knuckles' condition. You will get line-synizesis sooner or later if you don't give your servos enough breaks."

However, Prowl refused his considerate offer. "No. I prefer line-synizesis better than a telescopic rod on my arm."

Mesothulas was incredible, "You can't say such slag with that stoic face." 

"I can't prefer line-synizesis seriously?"

"Telescopic rod."

The ex-enforcer gave the scientist a stern look, which was included in Praxian enforcers' induction training, but unfortunately didn't hold any power upon Mesothulas any more. "Come on. It's just an ordinary but efficient mod, nothing special comparing to shoulder cannons, welding torches or grapples."

"A mod sounds idiotic and unpopular. No sane mech want to look like a stupid sparkling whose caretakers worry he will drop his textpad or something."

"And you are a sparkling often forgets to refuel, skips recharge, be absorbed in datapads until your wrist joints lock-up. Suits you well."

"Wha...!" 

"What's going on?" Ostaros's was distracted from his homework, which was, watching Cybertronian old news, holograms, documentaries etc. as social adaptation. He watched the two so very mature mechs arguing extremely silly things with worry optics, those matrix-blue, clear as crystal, full of dependence and concern optics. 

"Oh, nothing." Prowl shut his ready-to-snarl jaw, turned his sight back to the mission report, pretended the abruptly raising voice was not from his vocal box, "Nothing, Ostaros." There were not many mechs in the whole universe could stop THE PROWL barking. If Ostaros joined the Autobots, though Mesothulas would never allow such a thing happen unless he's dead, the young mech would be immediately promoted to sergeant just by this record.

"Don't worry Ostaros, we were just talking about datapad holder." Mesothulas cooed.

"The stupid telescopic rod." The mech who was busy with paperwork and absolutely had no time to participate in previous quarrel corrected.

As a responsible caretaker, Mesothulas disapprovingly eyed Prowl. "How can you say that thing in front of Ostaros!"

"What thing?" asked Ostaros curiously.

Prowl's perfect self-control could be seen from his still whole, not cracked datapad. "Yes, what thing exactly?"

"Nah, nothing." The responsible caretaker quickly changed the topic, "As you're not willing to install a single holder to do your own health some good, we have to do it old-fashioned, inefficient, repetitive way. Give me your servo." 

"I need them more."

"The one not holding the pad, left one, now. Don't be puerile."

"A mature commander need his left servo to remark on significant mission reports."

"Remark in your mind, write them down later. Won't be a problem for an enforcer-turned-commander who can compute 800 objects' moving paths at once."

Saying it himself and listening to them being said mockingly from another mech are entirely different things. Prowl was both irritated and embarrassed.

"Am I wrong? Possibly not. You constantly remind others about it."

Constrained his volume intend to not get Ostaros' interest, Prowl scowled and growled, "I'm not showing off around."

"Yeah, right, you just can't help boasting about your enhanced processor before those tardy minds."

"I. Am. Not." Prowl was trying hard to weld Mesothulas' moving lips together by lasers shot through his optics.

"Aww, don't be so angry, dear. I'll show you something good once you finished your works." Mesothulas emphatically patted Prowl's petallar axle. "To cheer you up."

"How thoughtful of you." Prowl sneered, "And don't call me that." He drew back the leg put on Mesothulas' lap - just to hold out his servo more conveniently. If he looked a little angular, at least Mesothulas was not complaining. 

In fact, on the contrary, he couldn't be more satisfied. The scientist purred, "That's the good boy."

"My lumbar feels not so right as well recently."

"Bossy." 

___________

Finally, it was time to reveal the 'something good' Mesothulas mentioned.

He lifted a test tube to Prowl's optic level, every aspect of the liquid contained - colour, texture, refraction... looked grotesque. "Don't be too glad to jump me."

Prowl was not amused.

"Just joking." Mesothulas scrapped his mask, "Welcome to jump, anytime anywhere."

This time Prowl simply ignored him. He took the test tube and judged it for a long period. "You wish I suddenly comprehend its usage myself from nowhere? If you do insist, I guess it's manganic soda." There was no sarcasm in his voice, of course, happy little Prowl never satirized.

"Still sulking, huh?"

"I'm not."

"Then it's attention-seeking."

"I've told you I'm not! Tell me what it is or I'm leaving."

A maize knuckle caressed crimson chevron. "Enjoy ordering around, don't you."

"If it's your force to cheer me up, you're in the contrary direction."

"I named it Signature Displacer, tame, but good work speaks for itself. It's not completed yet, but the energetic germs inside can already get some works done." Not a slight disturbed by the cold tone, Mesothulas carried the tube between two fingers, paced in the lab leisurely. "I've told your suggestions occasionally lack adequate influence and control they deserved."

"Yes."

"Let's think about an average mech in size, capability, mode etc. By injection or open wounds, energon in his lines is exposed and infected by these thing in the tube. Initially, control signals sent from his brain module to every partition of his frame will be blocked, make him hard to invoke his limbs. Then those nerves will be cut off from brain module clearly, link to the germs ready to command instead." Mesothulas raised the tube high, swayed it with contentment, "Now he is splited into two parts. His frame turns into a mindless shell, these eager gluttons' forcing house. His sober mind, however, traps in the cramped grave named his once-upon-a-time body.

Theoretically, if get enhanced invasiveness, these tiny drones could break into brain module as well, shut down its signal and data transmitting activities, rob the poor mech's mind from him and even replace it - but what's fun in that? Spark beating strongly, mind thinking lucidly, oh, but his traitorous frame obeys him no more, driven by germs' surviving and duplicating instincs, make himself, no, themselves more and more companies. This is NAUGHTY."

The self-conplacent scientist turned to his Muse expectantly. Is that a horrified look in his optics? No, it can't be. A misreading maybe. Prowl has done countless terrible or not so terrible things himself. He can, no, he will see the work's value through ethical considerations. "More effort is required to make them response to given orders. When it's completed, think about it Prowl, an army mindless, self-expanding, fully under your control."

The seed of sin was put into Prowl's servo while the sinful scientist purred into his audio, "It's yours, they ALL will be yours."

The commander being indused jerked his servo away like getting burnt. The tube bearing the fate of most residents on this planet fell down as every ordinary object . Another servo barely caught it just before it shattered on the ground.

"Tsk, tsk, be careful." Mesothulas shook his helm dramatically, "Is it that difficult to follow lab rules for you?"

Prowl inhaled and exhaled deeply through his vent. "No, Mesothulas. It's too much."

"What? The lab rules?"

"Everything you described, about Signal Displacer, is too much, dangerous, sinful and sick. I do NOT need it, I've NOT fallen that far. I told you about... increasing control on other Autobots, not turning mechs into metallic shells. "

Mesothulas surprised. "Seriously, Prowl? Our race HAS fallen that far. Haven't you discovered that numerous soldiers have been degraded into blind hater? They ARE mindless walking shells, but not following your commands." His voice was laced with sick sweetness now, "All we need to do is..."

"Don't use your language tricks on me!" Prowl snapped. "I will not use such a thing upon Auto... any Cybertronian."

"Ahhh Prowl, if using it deal with Autobots is out of your comfort zone, use it against Decepticons! If you don't want to control others' abandoned minds, use it as a normal weapon to weaken enemy forces. I'm just an inventor, the usage all depends on your smart (and callous) processor."

"You won't stop unless get a practical reason, right?" Prowl jabbed an index finger toward Mesothulas, he poked so hard like going to spear Mesothulas across the air with it. "It's hard to control, easy to backfire. I want to lead the Autobots to victory, to win back the whole Cybertron from Decepticons' claws, not to finish our race with the civil war."

"Now it sounds like you. Don't be so stubborn sweetspark, I get it you don't want to use it now, but there could be a day you need it to handle who know what situation. How to play the card without it?" Speaking words too intimate to be comfortable for Prowl, Mesothulas danced his fingers from the other one's chin to hood.

No, it's not me. Gritting his dentae, Prowl slapped the offensive servo away. "Don't pretend you know me. This research project is closed now and can never be continued or restarted without my permission. Dispose every sample and semi-product in your lab beside this tube. No mech can have it, even Megatron, or Prime, especially Megatron and Prime."

"Of course they can not, only you deserve such a brilliant and dangerous work of mine, no one else, and I believe you can keep it perfectly safe." Mesothulas hummed his engine.

"No one will keep it, nor will I. Dispose all samples beside this tube, am I not clear?"

The scientist finally tensed and hesitated. "...Really?"

"Couldn't be more serious."

"Oh. Oh my, poor little one, ohhhh. I thought Noisemaze was the last abandoned work of mine. Alright, alright, only because it's your saying." Mesothulas sorrowfully caressed the tube bit by bit, unwilling to let go.

The ex-enforcer warned, "Our partnership is based on sincerity. If I find out you still work on it..."

"As a scientist, nothing could hurt more than destroying my own works, particular those uncompleted and unreleased. What would you do to soothe my sorrow, Prowl?"

Obviously not please at all, the police car pressed his lips together as a ∩, but said nothing to protest.

Mesothulas caught the scene and saved it in memory bank, engine revved up enjoyablely, too enjoyed for Prowl's taste. "We can discuss later your ideal method to control others moderately."

He fed on every bit of struggle and hesitation in Prowl's optics, it's the best part. The commander's self-struggle made his every return a victory. He came to Mesothulas despite all the troubles and unwillingness, how sweet.

"Come here, come to me, Prowl."

Though granting every request Prowl made, Mesothulas was always testing his weight to find his place. What could Prowl do? He was irreplaceable, he could push his luck further.

Their mutually beneficial relationship worked much more smoothly than Prowl would admit. The pragmatic strategist needed the scientist's genius works while Mesothulas needed a home and a lab during and after the long civil war. Mesothulas worked diligently and efficiently to met Prowl's sometimes nearly demanding requirements, but his inspiration spring never failed him, never dried up. On the contrary, his processor was full of ideas fighting for a chance to be implemented, if ony he could have had more time or more servos. 

He and his Muse, a perfect match.


	2. Denying in Vain for Six Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mesothulas felt hurt, Ostaros was confused, and Prowl was busy, as usual.

[What's that noise?]

"No need to rush, Prowl. I've built Energon disorder shots with no limbs, no wings, they can't run around freely, neither could them flee, who do you intend to catch up?" Mesothulas glanced at the pair of sensor panels hanging on his partner's back intentionally.

"I'm in hurry."

"You are not. Stop being nervous, your line tension has raised up by 8.23 percent. I can taste it across the corridor."

"I'm in perfect condition, physically and psychologically. Take your servos off me." The Autobots' officer snapped. 

"Why, not feel good?" 

"What are you... don't touch my door-wings." The mentioned appendages flapped violently, nearly caught the scientist off guard, though were quickly seized and controlled again, got several playful squeezes.

"But you need it. Allow me to remind you under a constant high stress lever will increase processor glitch risk. You've already got a funny enough little situation." The scientist's skillful servos gave the metal under them blissful pressure, not too much to create pain, not too light to let the wings go. Prowl was about to retort but Mesothulas hushed him quickly. "Relax or, no energon disorder shots, no mind-link, nor anything. Without you, they can't fully extend themselves, can't even been inspired, be created on the very beginning. It's all about you, Prowl, understand?"

Noting Mesothulas was determined to hold his ground, the struggles finally calmed down for the sensitive panels to get a better access towards those magic fingers. Nope, Prowl was not pushing his door-wings into them, not at all. Nope, his torso was not leaning to Mesothulas either. Accidents happened everywhere.

"Battles against the Decepticon maniacs on Teth-4 is getting worse, I'm about to take a leave towards there very soon." The commander's view was set on distance, as if considering the planet whose strategic position kept climbing up. "I'm taking all energon disorder shots with me. You've already fully tested them right... never mind, done or not, I'm taking them anyway. On a battlefield I acknowledge only by reports, I need everything giving me advantages."

"Shh, don't worry, trust me. Here we are." Stroking the metal between the black-and-white mech's wings, Mesothulas gently guided him into laboratory, did he learn this trick by raising Ostaros?

Four sets of shots in sub-space, Prowl was suddenly fully aware of the existence of Cybertronian gravity. Readjusted his stabilizer, Prowl turned around, took a deep vent. "I have to go now. There are works to do. "

The scientist reluctantly loosened grasp, lingering about the smooth feeling slipping through his digits the last time. "But you've just been here for -" 

[Mesothulas suddenly realized, it was his own scream.]

"Duties calling. I was supposed to report to Optimus Prime a groon and a half later. I would prefer not to explain why I, his most punctual officer, get late. If every mech had to be informed of our partnership, I hope Optimus Prime would be the last one." The not-so-punctual-to-Mesothulas mech turned to face him, stabbed a digit at the purple plating exactly above spark chamber, twice as much serious as which was his growl. "Besides, I hope mind-link protocol would be laying on your lab table waiting for me when I come back from Teth-4. You know what I mean when I say hope."

"Yeah, yeah." Covering faceplate where kissed by a swaying sensor panel -- that's the necessity of wearing a mask -- Mesothulas' mumble came out more disappointed than he meant it. "I thought... I have planned to show you my first edition test model of Future Probe." 

"Future Probe?" Already learned ample lessons about the consequences following Mesothulas' creative ideas, Prowl was very vigilant albeit a bit frustrated. "I've never heard you...since when you've got interest in this aspect?"

"Always a hobby of mine." The scientist chuckled. "No scientist could resist the attraction of space-time technology if only they set foot in physics, or they get pathetic intelligence it sucks."

Prowl's door-wings hiked a bit higher, reached the level of Unpleasant as well as challenging rockets up attributes to uncalculated variables, according to the handbook in 

Mesothulas's processor based on his experiences dealing with Prowl. "It does not slow mind-link program down, does it?" He asked warily.

[His chassis is grinding extremely hard inside his frame, scratching like another scream. And his brain module resonances with the scream coming out from his vocalizer in such an agony.]

"Of course not." The purple mech reassured his partner. "Your requirements are always on the first place. In fact, the mainframe protocols are already finished."

"And they belong to mind-link?"

"I got both of them done. Multi-task is an essential skill for being a brilliant scientist."

"I wish the distraction won't make the shots explode in my sub-space."

"Funny joke, for your standard." Mesothulas approvingly patted where the said sub-space should be in, which appears to be Prowl's hood. "I will not stop at observing future, Prowl. You and me both know where this technology will lead us. You are acknowledged of the tendency of arms race and intergalactic battles better than me, you must have calculated enough times, tell me, how long will it take to win the war simply by better strategies, heavier firepower and more soldiers you drop into battlefield? Not to mention no one can assure the Autobots would get these advantages, not Optimus Prime, nor can you, not to mention keeping them."

The Autobot commander caught the internal wall of his lower lip between dentae and chewed it slowly, nervously. Prowl knew what Mesothulas was indicating and he had a point, but he didn't like to be reminded that all the sacrifice ordered by him and made by his own weighed not that much as he liked on the big picture. 

"It's a good idea to cut the problem at the roots. However, time travel technology requires prolonged research and tremendous amout of energon as well as resources. Moreover, It has not been proved feasible yet by all the efforts done by other researchers. I can't put credits into a technology with such high uncertainty."

"I'm not asking you to put credits into the technology, I'm asking you to put credits on me. I'm not an ordinary researcher dear, I'm a genius." The so-called genius made an exaggerated movement, a lightly mocking salutation. "I will run the initial test on my Future Probe at...nearly a fortnight later, wanna know something interesting?" 

"I..."

"Exept which side win the war. I've already put it on my list, for you."

Prowl narrowed his optics, through which fully convey 'I know you are revenging me interrupting you', but vocally said something else instead. "Then nothing more."

"Not even the future yourself?"

"You'll see it anyway."

"Know me so well, don't you? I place 'the future Prowl' beneath 'the future Ostaros', above 'my future scientific achievements'. Do you think we will...'"

"I really need to go now, Mesothulas, next time maybe." Pitifully, the scientist's daydream got cut by a shutting door.

"Creator?" Ostaros put his serso on Mesothulas' elbow, out of concern. 

Turned his gaze from the closed door to his creation, Mesothulas sighed. "It's becoming more and more difficult to keep Prowl staying at home recently, isn't it?"

The said mech stuck his ferocious-looking protective helm back through the door. "Remember, mind-link."

"Prowl, it's..." Mesothulas was about to protest, only got the door shut at his face again before truly figured out something useful to say. 

\----------

[Why. Why? Why! WHY!!!]

"Cre...re..to..r! ...ator..."

Mesothulas' optics abruptly flicked on.

It's a memory purge. Tremble, pain, dizziness, coldness, accompanied with some indescribable nausea. Mesothulas covered his forehead with an unsteady servo, he had never experienced such a strong memory purge before. Deep, endless, insufferable agonizing, and it's only one memory shard. There were numerous memory shards flooded into his processor all at once,

No. Memory purge won't create such an agony, it's more from spark, it's...

"Cr...or....rea.., are.. kay? Wha..ppened?"

"Ostaros." Once activated his vocalizer, Mesothulas found those screeching noise disappeared, but he also realized his own words were laced with strange statics. Was it me screaming?

"You're...you're here, Ostaros, still here, with me. That's...enough, I can't be better now, sweetspark."

"You're not good. You're...angry, hurt, confused, you're suffering." Frown was a rare expression on Ostaros' faceplate, making his matrix-blue optics looked more soft and watery. How perfect, how sweet, how pure a masterpiece he was.

"Ostaros, oh my Ostaros, how could he make you fight against me?"

The poor young mech looked shocked, widened his optics. "Who? Then they make a wrong choice, I'll never do that!"

"Yeah, of course not, I love you sweetspark." His vocalizer's condition forced Mesothulas to speak in a low volume of voice, not so conviced it appeared to be. "Possibly connected to an alternate universe by mistake. It can't be, I'll try a second time."

"But your condition..."

"Shhh, shhh, I know what I'm doing, it's okay. Though there is one thing I'm wondering, what paint job will you choose for yourself when you get your final frame dear, green?"

The suddenly changed topic confused Ostaros, he tilted his helm, fall into thinking. "I...don't know? Never thought it before, why do you..." Then he realized he was tricked, creator took fully use of his distraction, caught the chance to re-connect his neural net with the prototype machine. He pouted. 

As the time went by, Ostaros's little anger vanished, turned into worrisome, then anger again, expanding.

The second time disengaged from the machine, Mesothulas rushed into washrack, purged his tank inside out at the very moment, too occupied to deal with an irritated looking Ostaros with his servos on hip. "Small sample size, large margin of error."

The third time, overload work and energon reflux eroded Mesothulas' vocalizer, he sounded too husky to be identified, "Low probability event, possibly."

The fourth time, he found himself kneeling on the ground when back to reality. He failed to get back on his pedes, only rewarded by the cracking sounds of gears inside his frame. "I...I get a new theory, incomputable possibilities of future entangled with each other, collapsed into one state every time I observe. It's just a...four in a million possibility."

The fifth time, he's not screaming, in fact, he didn't scream at all. Flickered for a long time, his optics finally onlined, filling of noises. His brain module felt dizzy and oddly light, as if lost a part. "It's...it's not the time." To avoid an accusing Ostaros, he restarted the Future Probe, not even bothered to disengage first.

The sixth time, he glared blankly at the Pandora's box he built, helm aching, mind drifting, hard to focus. His spark throbbed madly that almost jumped out of his chest, or blew his frame up to terminate the pain. "For the technologies, that's it." He groped for the start button.

The seventh time saw the same thing, Mesothulas eventually gave up. Denying in vain for six times was long enough, and exhausted, though still couldn't believe, felt betrayed, Mesothulas had to accept the reality. He didn't have energon to proceed another observation. He collapsed on the floor in an odd position, stared at the ceiling, mind wandering. "I saw everything . I succeeded, and failed." The ground was freezing cold, why so cold?

"I'll go tell Prowl you treat yourself as slag." Ostaros glared down at him, sulking.

The specific name made the scientist's nerve twitch. Luckily Ostaros's anger quickly gave away, he helped his creator down the corridor, back into chamber, onto berth.

Lying on berth, Mesothulas began chuckling, then turned into hysterically laugh. He laughed and laughed, didn't stop until he choked on it, his core temperature reached a dangerous level, vents glitched. "Tell Prowl, yeah, why not? But you can only get him when he come back here." If Ostaros didn't know his two parents, he would have thought the tone Mesothulas used, the way he chewed on Prowl's name, was extremely dark.

"He'll come back at last, and you can bet on my memory."

"He'll come back at last, truely you're right." Mesothulas slowly licked the energon remained in his intake, "But it's gonna be a long time, Ostaros, we have plenty of time to prepare, fully prepare."

Took the diluted energon Ostaros thoughtfully handed over, Mesothulas ordered his mask to slide back to the sides. He lightly shook the cup, watching the liquid inside flooded and ebbed. "You know why the interfacial tension of liquid energon is 2354, Ostaros?"

“Why suddenly...no?”

"Because the core of Cybertron is draining off, Luna 1's disappearance left an enormous influence on the tidal gravity of Cybertron, quickened Cybertron's rotation, exacerbated our social divisions, thus, made the interfacial tension of liquid energon smaller."

"Is it?" The creation eyed his creator suspiciously, "Are you truely alright, creator?"

"Of course I am!" Mesothulas looked offended, "Are you afraid of mechanical spiders, my litle Ostaros?"

"Er, no?"

"Perfect. Do you think Prowl can cooperate with them?"

"I can't tell, maybe I think?"

Mesothulas' smile was distorted by exhaustion, into something ineffably uncomfortable. "Don't worry, we'll find out soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Mesothulas sees the future seven times, we all know what will happen in the future cause we read Sins of the Wreckers.  
> It has been a bit inconvenient to keep updating on ao3 now, but I'll keep writing anyway.


	3. Meet the Giant Spider, Prowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sad giant spider and his very confused but angry tactician.  
> A LOT of quarrel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the new chapter! With some porn!  
> The rate have being changed. See the tags and warnings before you read.

After the unpleasant walk through the Radioactive Zone, Prowl was greeted by abnormality too obvious that any mech with optics couldn't ignore.The familiar warm yellow lights were no where to be found, replaced by one pale emergency light, supported by backup power, flickering randomly, which could only protect a small place from the dark not so far away.

Main power's cutting off would shut the main alert and protection system down. Prowl cautiously remained where he was in case of an unknown intruder, then called Mesothulas through comm.link.

[You're not at base?]

"I'm here, Prowl, not going anywhere." A voice answered him instead of comm.link.

Hearing the familiar voice, Prowl erased the possibility of some spy gained sensitive information in relief. He went ahead, started removing the heavy armor which made him clumsy. "I guess there is no need to remind you we have a power supply system failure?"

Mesothulas confirmed, "I did shut it down."

"Why? I can't see you, nor can my scanners. Where are you?"

No answer. Lack of the equipments' running noises, the whole base was too quiet for even _Prowl's_ taste.

Then he picked up something in the line-raising silence, something alien, soft, rustling in the dark. Quickly compared it to every texture this base possessed in his processor, the cop-bot was confirmed as far as he knew, nothing sounded that organic.

He didn't know what it was, and he didn't like he didn't know.

"What is it?" More questions followed before an answer could be make. "What happened? Is it your new experimental material? Unfortunately I discovered a quite weak relationship between mind-link and organic things."

"My recent researches, include both mind-link and Future Probe."

"So it's Future Probe then."

"Yeah."

"Medical equipments can not function without power, therefore you were not badly injured at least. But you require dark to fog the sensation, to hide yourself, even though it means an experimental hiatus." Prowl hummed. "Future Probe gave you a gentle failure?"

"No."

"Will Autobots win?"

"...Cybertronians will win."

"What's the meaning of this?" The tactician pinced the bridge of nose. "My patience is running out. I don't have time to play guessing game with you, just come out and explain what exactly happened. Will you, Mesothulas?"

Silence.

"I have had enough of this frustrating not-even-proper-conversation. If you can't move, then tell me _where are you?_ "

Apparently Mesothulas had other things in mind. He changed the topic abruptly instead of giving out a straight answer. "Would you like to spark bond with me, Prowl?"

"Wha--" Annoyance truly bled in Prowl's tone this time. "Answer my question, quit the nonsense."

Mesothulas knew. He had knew longing for a future with Prowl was like crying out for the moon since the moment he touched those pair of white servos to seal their mutual beneficial partnership contract, but nothing could really drIve him away from the delicious bait the said pair of servos held. He fell, and fell hard. Though the crush and ever-increasing greedy were nealy unavoidable, Mesothulas did try to do damage control. He reminded himself over and over never across the line otherwise things would be so very ugly, and used all the excuses ever exist for Prowl's manipulation to persuade himself. 

_But._

_But, Mesothulas thought, why did it have to be this way? **Prowl's benefit way?**_

He could change it.

"Lately, I've deeply felt that our collaboration and partnership might not as stable as I like."

"You have every single dark secret of mine, you yourself is the biggest proof of my guilt, and you still want more? I'm afraid you‘re unsatiable.."

"It's— it's not like that, Prowl, I'm not bargaining for a firmer interest binding as you think. Too cold, too bussiness-driven. I want emotional connection instead."

"I've already gave you."

"Enough for me, yes. Enough for you, no. Family relationship, shared successes and responsibilities— even add Ostaros to the list— mean barely anything to you. I know what kind of mech you are, partner."

"I've never heard a spark bond should be use to maintain cooperation."

"Mayber you could be the first-timer." Mesothulas suggested considerately.

"My answer is _no._ "

"Of cause, of cause. A dignified reply should be expected from a sincere partner. Excuse my bluntness." Said Mesothulas cheerfully. "Should I say, will you consider spark bond to me in the future, when I go through all the trials, give you invention after invention, to achieve our goals, to win the war? Can I gain your favor then?"

Never. "That... depends." The tactician carefully chose his words. "What bring that up to you today?"

"If you insist to know, come here and see for yourself."

* * *

Abnormal. Alien. Creepy.

No matter how advanced a processor was, how calculating a mech appeared, no one could have expected this.

Huge, fully covered in fur, having too many limbs and optics (eyes maybe?) they almost jostling against each other, the... creature... ought to be Mesothulas stepped under the single pale light. He looked one hundred percent organic, though some metal organs should still remained inside his frame (body?) considering the way he spoke and hissed.

In Prowl's utter horror, the giant spider's frame disassembled, transformed and combined into a whole new half-organic-half-Cybertronian creature just as creepy as the former spider if not more. His numerous eyes and limbs showed themselves none the less proud. No doubt he made an enormous progress from the giant spider, but still far from the Mesothulas Prowl knew. 

Prowl needed to raise his helm to see his old partner's faceplate now, being loomed over by the hulking, alien silhouette made an outstanding contribution to ease his nerves.

The hybrid bent down, almost touched the cop-bot's chevron. "In fact, it's Tarantulas now."

_Creepy in creepy._

Prowl opened his intake, but nothing came out. Spent several kliks to find his voice, the Autobot bit out. "I can't detect your life-signal." 

"True, that's one of the advantages of bio-disguise tech."

The best tactician in the Autobots chewed the new information for merely an astro-second to find out the great potential lay on the new technique. "Half a Stella cycle, how many upgraded soldiers you can make for me?"

"That _depends._ "

The former enforcer gritted his dentae."What do you want?"

" _You._ "

Hesitated a bit, Prowl looked Meso...Tarantulas up and down, considering the now-unfamiliar frame structure, those hedious paws and ferociously jiggling mandibles. "You happened to forget telling me where this technique come from."

"Does that matter?" Tarantulas' mandibles clicked together, made Prowl's armor unpleasantly itch. "It's the result that counts."

_So that's what a spider's smile looks like._

A chill run down Prowl's spinal-strut, the tactician subconsciously took a step back before realized and stopped himself. Facing this alien, primal, savage looking Me...Tarantulas, feeling sick mixed with shouldn't-exist-awe lurched in tank, the black-and-white's door-wings involuntarily quivered, biological instinct system whirring online spontaneously, whispering the rule of " _don't show your weakness to predators_ " in the back of his processor.

He deleted all warnings filling his visual. "I appreciate your ability and devotion to this creative technique, but I hope you haven't ignored other programs. I really need mind-link protocol, and don't have much time."

Tarantulas's oddly shaped helm snap towards him. "You reject me?"

Might have said the wrong words. The strangly onlined system sent a strong pulse of "fight or run" to Prowl, which he shook off. "Mind-link would be needed to put in use at anytime in two solar cycles to a deca-cycle. I know you're efficient, just a reminder." The piecing disturbance hadn't ease at all, the car-former couldn't help but rubbed a soothing round between his own door-wings. "As for rewarding the brilliant achievement, I see ( ~~abundant~~ ) no reason to refuse your request. When, and where?"

If the giant spider's mood was lightened, he didn't show it. "Now. Follow me."

Prowl balked at first, then glued his optics to his own hood, reluctantly forced himself to obey.

\----------------

What did being kept in a spider's limbs feel like?

— Like a prey slowly dying of the venom injected in their blood.

Paws stroked his bumper, lingered at door-wings' edge, traced down waistline, moved towards groin. "How does it feel?" His caresser asked throatily.

"What do you want to hear?"

"The truth, I guess."

"Weird." Prowl confessed. Multiple paws caressing so many sweet spots all at once should felt wonderful, but those thick stiff hair constantly made his plating itch. 

Tarantulas hummed. "Not as bad as I expected."

"What would you do if it really felt that bad?"

A servo lifted up, tapped the spider-former's jaw thoughtfully. "Make sure you grow accustomed to it?"

 _Fragger._ The tactician cursed inwardly, abruptly snapped back both his interface panels in a _schkt._ "Get it over with."

Tarantulas smirked, mischievously pressed a paw on those puffy valve lips using _just the right strength_. Prowl gasped in surprise and confusion, hip involuntarily jerked, "wha—"

Those hair, _oh those hair_ , rubbed and massaged against his most sensitive components with the paw's every move, lightened his exterior nodes, maddened the flicker of his bio-lights, spread the soft folds wide, lingered at the inviting entrance but carefully avoid the waiting anterior node. Prowl choked back a groan, hearing Mesothulas chuckled deeply between his thighs. "Be patient, love, I'm going to savour _every inch_ of your frame." Holding the Praxian's pelvis tight at his mercy, sharp mandibles clicked together excitedly to emphasize his words.

This time, Prowl cursed audiblely. 

When Tarantulas finally nudged his painfully pressurized spike at the black-and-white's now sticky valve, murmuring encouraging and loving nonsense under shaky vents, Prowl was already a disoriented mess overwhelmed by the flood of pleasure and caresses, all but wailing in urge, not able to care for the organic and alien look of his partner's new appendage. 

"You are killing me, Prowl, if only you could love me back..." The scientist couldn't hold back anymore, optics bright, vents stuttering, he pinned the black hip down with trembled servos to prevent Prowl from accidently bucking or possible withdrawal, and thrusted in. The first caliper was forced open, then the second, followed by the remains in one fluid motion, hit the ceiling node hard. Ridges attached to the spike pressed mercilessly at interior nodes, lighted them up, the abused channel hugged the invader helplessly, never felt so full and stretched. 

Arching his back, Prowl's vocalizer let out a strangled meow, however cut out by the neutral's slow but determined withdrawal, then turned into a scream. 

Those were not ridges, those were _hooks_ , and now they bit in the vulnerable wall and _pulled_. 

The hooks were small and made of soft organic textures, not going to do much damage, but very good at stimulating a valve, though Prowl was about to refer the experience as torture.

Tarantulas started a repetitive rhythm, nibbled at the curve of red chevron, thumb blindly described his lovers jaw line, feeling dizzy at every tremor and shudder, couldn't tell which was whose. 

Blue arcs danced on their plating, charge accumulated, pushing the two mecha to the top of the tide. A high pitched wimper made its way out of Prowl's throat, which was caught in by Tarantulas' unsteady invent and held there for a long moment. 

Overload flooded them all over.

* * *

"Enough to exchange for your cooperation?" Waited until Tarantulas eagerly wrapped the last drop of fluid off his frame, Prowl asked in calm.

Smugness glinted in eight bright yellow optics. "It seemed I failed to clarify. Let's make it clear, Prowl, I want you, to stay with me, _forever_."

The Autobot made no respond, except for the clenching fists for being fooled. But he ignored Tarantulas' inappropriate joke— _it must be_ — chose to refocus on the dodged question instead. "What did you see in the future." 

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Then it must be another spider vaguely indicated _Cybertroians_ would win the war. Why did you choose that word?"

The satisfaction Tarantulas willing to keep drinking in vanished under Prowl's critical glare, the scientist grumbled and shrugged. "I made it up."

"Hence, you kept connecting to your cherished Future Probe seven times in a short period, made yourself a total slag couldn't distinguish a gasket to a fuel pump, _only_ to made up a bad joke to irritate me? How inventive. I bet you're going to tell me you didn't observe future, but tested some compressed garbage recycle technique?"

"How do you...?"

"Ostaros reported your irresponsible behavior to me through comm.link."

"Hah, I forget that. He's a big boy now, isn't he?"

"So."

"So, yes, true, I went through garbage compressing seven times to made it up."

"You're glitching," Prowl pursed his lips into a thin line, "or what you have seen give you such an attitude. What is it anyway?"

"I've told you repeatedly, nothing. I'm functioning well and can't be better. You are much more concerning indeed, you never told me your processor's little problem had disseminated to your audios as well."

Wow, Prowl could really glare harder than he already did. " _Good, very good._ You made up your bio-disguise tech from garbage compressor too, genius? What other techniques have you _made up_?"

Thick silence fall down on them, tense raised up, until Tarantulas slightly turned his gaze away. "I don't want to talk about this."

"On what condition will you open your mouth?"

" _I Said,_ I _don't want_ to talk about this."

Tired of the inproductive loop, the tactician finally lost his temper. He tried to grab the other one's collar, but failed to the organic cloak, regretfully smashed the chest (which was, indeed, kind of fluffy) as an alternative. "I know there is a reason and explain it!"

The scientist made no move. "I'm not your prisoner or subordinate to interrogate, Prowl, I'm not cuffed on the chair, or put behind bars, don't pretend you're running the show here when you're not. Besides, are you sure Ostaros' intention of telling you was to richen your interrogation materials?"

"So you want something unsuitable to propose, or too much for you to ask." The cop-bot narrowed optics in suspicion. "What is your purpose, or perhaps I should ask _‘whom are you planning to sell those informations to'_? "

"Primus Prowl! Stop being paranoid! I've told you what I want, but you didn't take it seriously!" Tarantulas spread his servos wide out of frustration, paws threw in the air. "What else can I want? We need you, Prowl! This family needs you! Why couldn't you just stay with me, remain here besides Ostaros and never leave?!"

The black-and-white mech stopped rebuking, staring blankly at Tarantulas like never met him before (this frame was new for sure). The scientist's cooling fans whirled franticly. Finally, _finally_ he roared out his deepest buried thought after so many vorns' restraint, though handed over his biggest weakness to the mech could hurt him with it most at the same time. 

Prowl was calculating, weighing his choices, using his infamous tec-net, of cause he was, but seeing it, bitter and despair crawled their way onto Tarantulas' glossa, made him wait in desperate for his sentence.

The wordless, calm moment lasted, Tarantulas was almost starting to hope for a sweet success. Old habits died hard, in his new form and new self, the neutral was still good at creating delusions when interacting with Prowl.

Then his spark sank to his pedes, watching Prowl sneered. "Since I don't see your sincerity to continue our partnership, there's no need to waste my time now."

The bot turned his heels, heading to the exit, but a sharp pain hit his nape before he could make his third step. Drifting into darkness, Prowl heard Tarantulas' long and spark-broken (which was absolutely fake) sighs, in his tone was a definite coldness only a poikilotherm could held. "My, my, Prowl, sweetspark, you leave me no choice. I haven't figured out what to do about you yet, why do you always have to push me so far?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed my job and became particularly busy, have to prepare a difficult test at the same time, some frustrating things happened on the Internet as well. *sigh*  
> I‘m going to post my old fanfics (in my native language, of cause) on ao3 to keep them, including this work, which was already completed (though I edited some parts while translating). If you don't like wait, could read the Chinese version one before I finished the last chapter here, but I'm not sure how much a translator would help if you don't know Chinese...  
> Hope you enjoy!


	4. It's hard to get rid of spiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both the two gentle-bots made some generous offers.  
> Ostaros didn't learn his lesson.  
> The sticky spider's threads and Impetus were introduced to Prowl.

Slowly onlined in deep darkness, the first thing came to Prowl's mind when he was a bit soberer was calling Impactor.

Comm.link abandoned him, a stream of statics was the only response he got. Prowl cursed, which he recently did much more frequently, began to write a coded message.

_[Mesothulas captured...]_

Sensing new lights squeezed through the dark, Prowl snapped his helm to the source.

Tarantulas was watching him. Eight optics bright and clear, deadly still, _staring._

The Praxian's spark completely halted for a moment before pulsed madly inside his spark chamber, almost made him dizzy. He heard no whirr a normal mech usually rebooted with, it could be one of the surprises this bio-disguise technique held, or Tarantulas had been waking for a while, watching him or doing something dubious, Prowl hoped it was the latter.

Tarantulas chuckled darkly, one paw came after Prowl who was scrambling off the berth. "I guesss I forget to tell you something important, partner, the entire base has been put under electromagnetic silence field for several groons. Certainly I have my own way to communicate, perhaps you can let me help you to send the message. You know, I will do anything for you with pleasure."

"Rhetoric." The tactician put his grim face on, crossing his arms under his chassis, "at least anything _but an answer_ it seems."

Tarantulas sighed, typical Prowl-ish, alwasys demanded for the full strory. There was no harm to tell now, right? Things became remarkably easier since he decided to lock the Praxian up in the base instead of win his spark over. "I've seen many, many terrible things, love, you shattered— or should I say will shatter?— my spark."

"Look at _me_ , Meso... Tarantulas, no matter what you've seen, true or not, that's not me. It could be an alternate universe or something." The Autobot tried to talk some sense into his kidnapper, pointedly kept his tone neutral and logical, as far from a plea as he could manage. “You can't act on impulse. The war needs me, the Autobot army needs me. I'll come here more frequently, but I can't...” 

He was cut off in midstream by the scientist's harsh words. "Does the war, the Autobots really that important to you? Do you really care that much besides the effort you've invested in? You once planned to go off Cybertron, leaving everything behind, haven't you ever reconsidered it?"

"You don't understand, you are a neutral."

"Once, you were a neutral too." 

"But I am _NOT_ now." Prowl growled, clenched fists tight. "The decepticons'... Megatron's wrong doing should be stopped."

"Of course they should, but... forgive my poor comprehension, what wrong doing you're refering to? Devastating a neutral city refused to join the war with decepti-bombs, fake the villain's war crime to recruit the survivors, the victims for the heroic Autobots? Or..."

_A mistake._

_A terrible mistake slipped out of control._

Tarantulas did know too many secrets for Primus' sake. Embarrassment of being exposed, being _tried_ babbled in Prowl's tank, accompanied by irritation he felt for his failure of handling a single collaborator. 

_A vital evidence of his guilt should be destroyed long ago._

"ENOUGH." As the word was ground out, the Autobot pinged his shoulder-cannon to activate.

_[Error: requested mod not found.]_

"You know that thing was too easy to install and disassemble." Tarantulas spreaded all his paws to imitate a shrug. "Who did the upgrade for you at the begining? You should confiscate his medical license."

"You couldn't do any better." Poor compatibility with some mods occured sporadically amongst cold-constructed mecha, fortunately Cybertronians had a rich variety of hand-hold weapons for selection, they were an notoriously dangerous species after all. Subtly smirking, the ex-enforcer held up his gun, which he retrieved from a secret compartment under his armor. "I never regard you as a negligent mech, it make me begin to worry for the reliability of your inventions." 

"My dear tactitian, presumably you know very well the difference between pulling the trigger yourself and activating the targeting system of your weapon modules, like comparing giving out commands inside headquarters to killing and being killed on the battle field."

"You don't believe I will pull the trigger?" Prowl's faceplate was twitching, dangerously balancing on the very edge of an outburst.

"You can try."

Try he did. Three clear shots, the painful scream sprayed out from the scientist was pure music.

"Bad news, I'm much stronger than before." Tarantulas straightened up, organic-style structured faceplace split in half to echo a mock. "Good news, you won't make the stupid attempt in the future, congratulation for the progress." 

"Do. Not. Repeat your imagination."

"Imagination? I'd rather call it an apocalypse."

"I believe I heard something, creator, is there— OH."

_"Ostaros!"_

Ostaros frozed at the door frame, where he was attempting to probe in a helm to investigate what was happening between his parents— it sounded awfully like a fight, but it couldn't be, creator was longing for carrier's back twice as much as him. Besides, what could they fight for? How to better educate him?

Reality worse than anything he could expect greeted the youngling, who was in utter shock and horror. "Prowl?" 

A short term acid gun, hold in the left servo of the ex-enforcer, directly pointed at him. Ostaros had read about this standard equipment, a common weapon amongst Praxian enforcers, often used to tore down the barriers during search and rescue missions, but barely failed to blow off a helm in one tenth of a mile.

In this short distance, the chance of an honored enforcer like Prowl missed an easy target was nearly _impossible_ even if the servo was imperceptibly trembling. "Do you think _Ostaros_ is stronger than before?"

"Prowl..." Tarantulas lowered his volume, "you just want to me to back off. You won't fire at Ostaros, our little one, an unarmed mis-entrant, perhaps the most innocent Cybertronian."

The tactician stood in a highly tense manner, about to crack or strike at any time. "Really?"

"No need to pretend, I know you well, Prowl." Tarantulas slowly approached, ready to sneak between them whenever the Autobot was distracted. 

"Stop move, all servos up, to where I can see them."

Casted a glance to Ostaros, Tarantulas raised up his servos and paws, made a scene kind of ridiculous though no one cared at present. "You should see your own servos, Prowl, all clean and beautiful, could be shinier without the little fun we'd enjoyed together, no energon, no blood, while you are busy manipulating, enticing, coercing, roping others in your games, using blackmails or greater good or anything of avail, make them do dirty works you couldn't do by yourself. Thus, you arrange, strategize efficiently no one else can, make innumerable subordinates, informants, operators, spies, scientists, (Tarantulas slightly bowed to indicate himself) dance under your fingers, those strings spread across the planet, formed a huge net affecting the war, exactly like a spider sitting on its web. It seems we are much more similar than given credits to."

"There is no resemblance between us." Prowl spat out in disgust, so valid his strike was easily ignored by Tarantulas entirely. 

"What different is—" The spider-former suddenly moved, shot out threads in a stunning speed, "— _I'm_ willing to get my servos dirty."

This was totally beyond Prowl's expectation and knowledge of organic biology. The gun was caught by the web and ripped out of his digits before he could even react, then the poor weapon was slammed on the wall so hard the ringing sound echoing in his audios made him giddy... no, it's not his audios, the faint pain on his nape reminded Prowl what happened before, it was his whirling processor. Door-wings flared out to balance, and Tarantulas seized the chance to attack.

Left shoulder-joint being push by the savage strength Tarantulas gained from the new frame, forced him to fly back. The car-former braced himself for the impact and pain from an hard fall, praying for his door-wings not getting hit on an unfavorable angle but, no, they didn't came.

Ostaros, the naive and cheerful youngling, aimed at by _him_ barely a few kliks ago, rushed to his side in the most fluid motion the slim frame was capable of, caught his fallen body just in time. Stunning, Prowl stared into the crystal clear matrix-blue optics from his position on their owner's lap, found no resentment but concern in there. Something soft and bitter formed in Prowl's chest, the emotion he was unable to describe made his throat tight. He worked his intake open, about to say something, only to yelp when suddenly being grabbed by collar, roughly yanked up and pushed against a wall. 

Thanks to the powerful new frame, Tarantulas was tenth capable in fight than before if not more. The multi-task ability Mesothulas always bragged about was also obviously improved seeing the multi-limbs he possessed now. Shooting out laysers and layers of threads, the neutral cooed his baffled creation softly. "Go back to your room, Ostaros my dear, don't worry, we'll soon patch it up, Prowl will be good with us again."

Footsteps fading, carried away Prowl's biggest hope to get out of the current predicament. The organic texture twining around his chest, waist and knees was sticky, pliant but tough, a set of filaments wandered away from others, wickedly claimed his hood and headlights.

"How could you use _Ostaros_ against me?! How could _you_ use Ostaros against _me_?!" Reality and unpleasant memories stirring together, Tarantulas fired queries in vain, accusing which Prowl more he couldn't tell. Even genius as him couldn't reach the future Prowl though, so he tightened his grip on the present one, howling in hurt. "I never laid a finger on our bitlet hard enough to break a piece of gold foil, _how_ could you put a gun at his helm?!"

The tactician shuttered his optics wearily. "If we were quite similar, as you like to announce, being rational and reasonable, today's accident wouldn't happen in the first place."

"Is it?" Tarantulas was rather asking himself instead of Prowl, _is it an accident, or a fate?_ "Because I've seen different," and those different pictures were _the same._

Prowl tugged his EM-field tight to his prototype to avoid the deep sorrow and rage Tarantulas was broadcasting. Already been physically immobile, he couldn't lost clear mind as well. "Whatever you saw, it hasn't happened yet, we can fix it. You don't have to come this far, keeping me here won't make things be the way you like. You can't hold me forever, I will sniff out loopholes in your security no matter how careful you are, I _will_ find a way out and _leave_. I'm very willing to visit this base, or your home as you said, but I will _never_ come back to a _cage_." Prowl wouldn't say the word "flee", no way, he still needed his dignity, there was not much left in this case so it was more precious now. He also flourished servos to emphasize his point, hoping the stoical manner would made him looked less vulnerable but not sure how well it worked since his bound wrists were exhibited at the same time. "Moreover, not boasting, I'm the Autobots' SiC, rank over everyone but Prime, they will come to rescue me. Impactor know our business, know this base, know where to find me if I'm missing. It won't be a long vacation."

Long pause, good sign, meant there was an internal conflict. Prowl examined his kidnapper's expression carefully, which was really hard by the way, expecting to get a hint. 

A paw rested on his cheek, "Are you reminding me to hide you elsewhere?"

_Pit._

"Don't misinterpret me, love. When you said "fix it", they did sound tempting, but I've learned my lessons, repetitively. _I won't buy your liars._ " The last words were whispered into his audio, the Praxian could sense the heat exhaled from the techno-organic frame, and he winced. "My agents have their ways to track my signal, there is no use to transfer my location."

"I doubt it. You are a private mech, it's unlikely for you to let others check your whereabouts now and then." 

Prowl quirked an optic ridge, playing indifferent. "Right, I won't. So where do you plan to keep me?" 

Tarantulas noticed he answered too quickly it could be a trick, or Prowl was leading him to think so, hence he decided not to play in the outstanding tactician's areas of expertise. "Well, I'm not in the mood of guessing, what about just assume you hide a tracker somewhere you naughty thing. It'll still require quite a while for those boring mecha to get you— I won't hand you out that easily, and many, _many_ things can be done in the meantime." In spite of Prowl's resistance, the neutral nuzzled the black-and-white's jaw in an almost sickeningly affectionate way. "I will have you tightly bound, hanging upside down in the center of our room. The position and bondage will numb your senses, the dense darkness filling your sight will fog your processor, you'll start to lose your sense of time, won't feel your limbs or door-wings anymore. You'll be left in the infinite void, capable of nothing but waiting and accepting, being robbed of all stimulations except for those I decide proper to give you. You know I'm always so generous to you, will give you everything I have, allow you to feel me thoroughly. From your spark to processor, inside out, there will be me, all of me, _only me_."

Prowl's vocalizer and vents were both unnaturally quiet, though his frame flinched subconsciously, which gave out his opinion of those treatments.

"Ostaros can feel so very lonely, being the only masterpiece in the world, such a pity. I will put more brilliant little works in— " He tapped the Praxian's abdomen behind exactly above the tank, the feeling of thick fur brushing against finish made Prowl's internals churn up, "— here. They might not be considerate and kind-sparked as their elder sibling, but their unlikable personalities will be considered adorable for being like you." His tone became dreamy, obviously mind wandering. "When your comrades and subordinates finally find you, they'll see a mech who... ah, no offence, but would they recognize you if all of your armor are changed or removed, prototype swollen? Will you still be willing to reveal your identity, to leave with them, my Prowl, my Muse?"

As the vivid description being absorbed in, to say Prowl looked pale was an underestimate. 

Impactor had commented "Mesothulas is sickly obsessive about you, a domestic snake will give you a bite when you petting him sooner or later."

Jazz had said something as well— "ya should be extremely tactful in manipulating others, Prowler, don' do what Ah won' do." He was the master of covering innuendo with casual talks, perhaps he knew the collaborator providing those "new things" and the relationship between him and Prowl inside out, or perhaps he just guessed from vague hints. The spec-op was so good at playing "know everything" and "know nothing at all" you could never correctly infer how much information he truly gained.

What did Prowl thought at that time? He was confidant, regarding the initial obsession Mesothulas performed as useful counters." Mesothulas is still a valued collaborator," and "everything is under fully control," he said.

_I should have gotten rid of all these before things became worse and backfired,_ Prowl thought.

Even his advanced tac-net couldn't predict _future_ was such a violent catalyst, their relationship was still healthy before _the Future Probe accident_ , far from those dramatic troubles.

"Are you scared? That is new. I always believe perspective as you must have seen through my very core since the first glance you casted on me, but still chose me and created Ostaros with me anyway. How could I dislike you, my Muse?" Humored by himself, Tarantulas giggled maniacally. "Just a joke, no worry, I won't treat you like that, yet. I have other ways, a _lot_ of ways."

The maniac's engine which was too nearby as Tarantulas was pressing himself almost on Prowl— hence smudged the energon dripping out of his wounds onto Prowl's plating and bondage, which was very unthoughtful for him— rumbled with chuckle, made the tactician slightly squirmed. But he didn't have much processor left for that, cranking his neck to try turning his faceplate away was much more emergent currently— if Tarantulas had better control of his oral lubricant! "You're insane, you—" He tried with all his might to sustain coldness and indifference, was about to say more but thought better of it when heard his own weak voice, instead he clicked his mouth shut hoping to lock his vulnerability inside.

The techno-organic creature huffed nonchalantly. "Maybe. Tiny side-effect brought by great creativity."

Seeing Prowl turned his gaze away from him to observe the surroundings— which was unacceptable— Tarantulas caught his cheeks to grab his attention, tilted the white helm back towards himself, forced the Praxian into an optic contact.

Prowl had a pair of calculating and piercing ice-blue optics, easily break the stereotype mecha held for Autobot Blue. However the unobvious terror presently bleeding in them didn't sneak away from the hawk-eyed scientist, the concealing attempt made it twice as tasty.

Tarantulas beamed in the sweetest way his currant faceplate structure allowed. "Follow me. I'm going to show you something naughty. Heh, isn't it a bit old? I can't recall any works not naughty except for Ostaros. But that's what we are, you just love me like that." He held one of Prowl's servo in his own, led him, or to be more accurate, tugged him into the mysterious darkness. If not for the bondage around Prowl's wrists, if not for the stumbling way one could only walk with stiff knee joints just loosened from tight restriction, they looked like a pair of clingy lovers.

"Why the silence, Prowl? I know you're good at deciding others' fate in several sentences, what happened to your sharp tongue?" The ending was laced with dangerous tune. Determined to feed his kidnapper no more smugness, Prowl pursed lips tight like they were supposed to be welded together. Recollecting the old knowledge he bore in spark when functioned as an enforcer, Prowl followed its guide— act obediently, but didn't fully satisfy the kidnapper's ultimate motivation, increase the survival rate and wait for an opportunity— as if he was an outside-the-field instructor instead of a hostage caught on the spider's web.

"Incooperative, aren't you? Never mind, this naughty thing of mine happens to be expert in activating vocalizers, whether you like it or not. This is the core function of _Impetus_."

* * *

He struggled, squirmed, wiggled, and tried his best to dig his heels in the ground, refusing to walk into his own grave. And failed.

To be honest, a tactician lost his motor control to lousy organic threads which was tensile but tough, a disarmed ex-enforcer, an officer had little practice in fighting skills recently could hardly stand a chance against a giant spider who absolutely had the upper hand when only counting the number of limbs, not to mention size and strength.

His struggle was not as productive as he liked, either, more to Tarantulas' amusement than trouble. 

"Stop... stop! Meso... Tarantulas! I admit I'm not a very amicable partner these groons, but you started it so let's call it even. Set aside the unpleasant interaction, we would continue our fruitful collaboration, and discuss your... requirement, at least we could negotiate as citizens." The bot was not sure what the Impetus device's exact function was, but it looked as friendly as a smelting pit a very short distance away, and became closer and closer while the rescue team was... a rescue team would only be organized after he was confirmed missing, which probably have not yet. Overwhelmed by the circumstances, Prowl eventually choked out a sound near a plea, "You couldn't blame me for what was not my doing. _Mesothulas_ , for the sake of our shared past!"

"What was not your doing, or, what you haven't accomplished yet? I saw you push me into the Noisemaze, I saw you take Ostaros away from me, only to make him _a wrecker_ who's any mission could be the last one, and use _him_ to fight against me. You said they were illusions, you said what hadn't happened yet didn't count, you said that was not you, guess what, you've just proved you are the same mech with your gun."

" _I_ won't truly fire at Ostaros, _you know it!_ "

"No fear, Prowl, when do I intendedly leave you a wound or a dent?" The scientist stoke the handsome faceplate in deep concern, followed the etching line down. "I promise, it won't hurt."

Tarantulas pushed his Muse down on Impetus. "For our future's sake."

[Recording start]

_Confess your sins, Prowl, admit everything we accomplished together, destroy your reputation and the meaning of escaping._ Tarantulas slowly circled the soon-to-be-ex Autobot SiC, grinned to himself, waiting.

Spiders were hard to get rid of from your life after all.

"...an idea came to me, if I could duplicate the fallen of Praxus on Carpessa."

"I'm right, we recruited adequate fresh blood, just like in Praxus."

"Sixty percent of them lost their lives in the next ten stella-cycles, thirty percent lasted four more decades... just like the Praxians."

"...I sent an invitation to Mesothulas." Prowl sat limply on the judgement seat, mumbling randomly, door-wings pathetically pressed against the hard back of the chair. Those optics were unfocused, like staring at an ambiguous image of some judge in the distance, or reviewing all his doing since long ago. "The Decepticons had Squadron X, we set up the Wreckers. They dropped MTOs in the battle, so we built our own. But they didn't stop here, K-Squad was a sick innovation, and I heard rumors about anti-planet super warriors program, there could be even more. If we always barely remain competitive by following their steps, or even get left behind in the arms race because of moral concerns, how is it possible to win the war? We need more fatal weapons, secret trump cards, our own decisive techniques. We can't fail... I can't fail." 

"...there is no loyalty to speak for him, I must... I have to, give him more, as incentives, inevitably fuels his insatiability but it can be handled. I'm indulgent with his obsession, not a very wise choice maybe, but the mathematic expectation of its consequence is acceptable. I have to add all chips I can find on the Autobots, at least prevent them from falling into the Decepticons' claws. I... it's the duty, I can't... I'm the only one to make hard decisions, there is no choice and... and I don't like losing."

It was kind of cute really, watching the stoic tactician struggling with confessing emotions normally hidden behind the numbers and possibilities he fed himself. Malicious joy glinted in all eight optics, Tarantulas crooned, "keep going, Prowl, say more." 

As being told, Prowl kept talking and talking, until his vocalizer fritzed out, until the recording device run out of power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! Though it felt like what, 500 years later...  
> Hope you enjoy!


End file.
